


Serein

by faryn_rose



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/M, Fluff, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8403865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faryn_rose/pseuds/faryn_rose
Summary: Hyungwon has a busy life as a model. It's a good thing he has you to relieve his stress.





	

The rain decides to be relentless today, on your only day free from work, of course, and the very day you’ve decided to see the man that was on plastered posters and magazines and every corner of the world in which he can appear to watch you.

You can be seen dashing, head ducked; from the taxi through the gold, revolving doors of the city building if someone squints through the raindrops hard enough. You breathe in relief only when you are safely within the warmth of the apartment lobby, spacious and gray, modern and simple, allowing for no distractions in your journey to the elevator doors. Your fingers fumble to free your hair from the jacket hood as the doors slide open with a ding, and are met with a face, friendly, aged, and unfamiliar.

The liftman is new, you mentally note. You are not surprised at the friendly smile he allows across his lips, nor the confusion swirling within his eyes when you confidently step into the luxurious elevator.

“Good evening, ma’am. Do you live here?” 

You immediately feel embarrassment fiddle with the color of your cheeks upon realizing you have to _explain._  The former liftman knew very well who you were, and would punch in the number of the floor before you’d even step through the elevator doors. This time, you realize to your dismay, it will be different.

“Um, I’m visiting someone.”

He gives a single nod. “What floor?”

“The top one.”

Comprehension immediately dawns on his face, urging his eyes to fly from the wall buttons to your face and back.

“Oh, you are the lady Mr. Chae told me to welcome.”

Shades of red and pink color your face now, coupled with the heat that burns a trail across your cheeks at his words and knowing smile.  _Of course,_  Mr. Chae gave that order. There is no doubt that the entire building knows your name and face by now.

Your thoughts fall away when the gloved hand presses the button highest up along the silver elevator wall, and commences the smooth, albeit slightly lengthy decent upwards.Your heartbeat seems to speed up with every floor that passes, the sensation of butterfly wings bursting to flight within your stomach as they always do the closer you seem to get to Chae Hyungwon.

You wonder if he had a photoshoot earlier in the day, or a meeting, or anything to do with his work that always seems to smudge darkness under his eyelids, and prompt him to invite you over. You realize then, how much you’ve missed him between his busy schedules, and precisely how anxious you are growing now that you’re going to see him again. 

By the time the elevator comes to a halt with a final ding, you feel as if the butterflies have entirely knotted your insides. The liftman tips his hat to you in bidding when the doors slide open, and you take the step outside as you’ve done countless times before. 

The sound of the elevator disappearing behind you is muted in your ears when you see the single pair of double doors at the end of the hallway, and the only ones on this floor. He does not like interacting much with people, he mentioned once, except, of course, for you. 

You realize the apartment doors are unlocked as you let yourself inside, and the scene before you overwhelms you almost immediately. The space is more like a one floor mansion than a simple  _apartment_ , as it is dubbed. Modern, gray furniture litter the porcelain tiles, floor to ceiling glass windows give you a full view of the sparkling city beneath, and large, blown up photos of him are hanging  _everywhere_. 

The atmosphere of the scene curls and stills around you, paints you a picture of serenity and simply luxury, everything that is so much like Chae Hyungwon. You’ve seen this all before, undoubtedly, but it is still so beautiful and serves as a reminder of his success that never fails to impress you. 

You seat yourself upon the square cushions of one of his charcoal couches, and decide to study the plasma screen-sized photos of him he retrieved from his photoshoots long ago. Several ones are watching you now, with eyes dark and mysterious, lip tucked in between his teeth or a palm pressed to his temple. The suits he wore that day tactfully cover his frame less than they should have, with ivory shirts buttoned only partially up to his chest and wrinkled sleeves rolled up, ties undone, blonde hair ruffled and parted, lips-

You swallow thickly. He always teased that he’d get you worked up even when he’s not there. You never want to tell him he’s right.

The resounding sound of a door being pushed open has your head snapping forward, and reveals to you the very man that had your throat dry, and drying again very quickly. He enters the main space with a small towel clutched in his grip, scrubbing the strands of his wet, blonde hair. Stains of raindrops covered the entire top half of the obsidian jacket that adorned his lean frame. 

When he finally notices you, it seems the butterflies that have lain dormant within your stomach burst into chaotic flight once again. A smile instantly takes solace upon his lips and his shoulders seem to slump in relief, before they are being covered with his drenched towel.

Time seems to still when he walks towards your place on the sofa, when your name passes from his lush lips in a whisper, and again when he bends forward slightly, hands pressing to the cushions on either side of your body to kiss you, finally, properly, deeply.  

You sigh against his lips and revel in the silken sensation of them against your own, in his scent that never fails to smell like ancient libraries and lavender. Your hands find themselves tangled within the strands of his dripping hair, the immediate freezing touch urging you to pull back with questioning eyes. 

He smiles lazily. “It was pouring outside. I forgot my umbrella.”

Only then do you remember the faint, pleasant hum of raindrops pattering against the windows, serving to strengthen the serenity of the atmosphere that guides you both. 

His hands run down your sides and softly tug you from your thoughts to focus on his hooded eyelids, his nose nudging yours. 

“I missed you.”

You can only smile at him, run his hands down to tighten around his shirt collar and guide him back to your impatient lips. He chuckles before he gives in, allowing your mouths to fall into the familiar, slow dance, and encourages you to lean backwards slightly to rest against the sofa to allow him to rest between your parted legs. 

His hands cup your cheeks reverently, then travel downwards to slip just beneath the hem of your shirt and rub slow circles into the skin. You nip lightly at the swell of his bottom lip, a request that he accepts with a generous parting of his mouth. Tongues push through seams of lips and stir a sweet moan from within you that shifts the atmosphere. 

He kisses you deeply as if determined on stealing every ounce of breath from your lungs, and works to leave you light headed and fidgety because of the quickly, quickly warming space between your thighs. Your legs lace around his waist as his tongue skillfully swirls and slides against your own, unwilling to let you part from him for air until you are impatiently rolling your hips against his. 

A choked moan, deep and resounding, is dragged from his lips as he pulls back at you questioningly.

“Don’t want to go to the bedroom?” He jokes, prying off your hand resting upon his cheek to place kisses along your wrist. His voice has gotten ragged and husky, doing everything to stir awake a fire in your abdomen as he gazes down at you with hooded eyelids. 

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth with a shake of your head, a move he follows carefully with bated breath. 

“I can’t wait.”

With that, you are slipping off the onyx jacket from his shoulders to drop onto the floor, forgotten. The buttons of his work shirt are worked open by your nimble hands, slowly revealing him to you, inch by inch. He litters kisses upon the crown of your head as he works his tie undone in the meantime, entertaining you with a roll of his hips that has pink heat flushing across your cheeks.

Undoing the last button feels like a godsend, and you are quick to send the unwanted fabric fluttering onto the ground in the next second. His rich skin is at the mercy of your roaming palms, his abdominal muscles, his navel, his-

“Woah, slow down,” he laughs, curling a hand around your wrist whose fingers have been caught at the zipper of his pants. You whine when he retracts the danger of your hand from the area, and diffuses your discomfort with a kiss to your cheek. “You are impatient today, aren’t you?”

You roll your hips yet again in response, an action that has a hiss falling from his clenched teeth and hands fumbling to still your body. “Yes, I missed you too much. I need you, please.”

You can see him thinking for all but a few seconds before his lips were tilting into a smirk, obviously enjoying your breathless begging for him.

“But I want to take this slowly,” he reasons, drawling out the last word as he shifts your legs so that you are lying sideways on the couch. He pauses to bend down to the floor and pick up his forgotten tie before turning his attention back to you. His eyes of obsidian roam your clothed body and grow only darker as they do so.

“I want to take my time, to feel you and touch you,” he speaks, moving to straddle your hips upon the couch, “and taste you,” he breathes along your skin, pressing soft kisses to the underside of your jaw. You groan at his words, at the slurred shape they take with his voice that is much too arousing when it is so deep and gravelly.

He gathers your wrists between his hands and pulls them over your head to rest on the arm cushion. Your body stretches out for him underneath his own, and you can see the darkness that pools into his irises. 

“And if you are impatient, then I guess I’ll just have to restrain you.”

His words seem to bring your mind, hazy with lust, suddenly into focus, and you can now register something silk being slipped around your wrists, lacing tightly so as to restrict movement. Your heart jumps when he pulls back to sit up with a satisfied smirk, relishing the way you attempt to pull your wrists apart and escape your silk confines.

“Hyungwon,” you whine when you realize it is useless, your body only growing warmer with his sudden display of dominance.

“Hush, baby,” he scolds, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, voice turning soft, low, suggestive, as if whispering secrets. “You don’t want to be blindfolded too, do you?”

Your breath hitches. He chuckles. Then, his lips are on yours, swallowing your protests and your irritation, hands roaming across your curves to unbutton your shirt. The sides of the garment is pushed away from your center to reveal the skin underneath, but not entirely removed because it is impossible to do so, given your bound hands (something that is realized with a glare from you and a cheeky smile from him).

Your bra is hastily shifted upwards along your chest, enough so that the swell of your breasts and hardening nipples are revealed to his hungry gaze. His fingers skirt along your skin, leaving tingles in their wake, and stop to curl firmly around one of your mounds.

Your breaths become shallow when his thumbs brush across your nipple, and stop entirely when his warm mouth is lowered onto it. Your mind goes blank when his hot tongue caresses the skin, sending sparks of pleasure throughout your body and has your chest arching against him as he watches you so very, very carefully.

You moan his name, finally, the tune so sweet to his ears. He is encouraged to tend to the other breast, all the while his other hand brushes along the skin of your navel, undoing your pants and finding the enticing lace fabric of your panties.

The sensation of his finger against your clit has you gasping, moaning desperately, bucking your hips for more contact. You are so wound up already from his teasing, from him, and he curses at your shameless reaction, finding it a bit more difficult to hold himself back from ravishing you at that moment.

He rubs slow circles into the nub, working your breaths into labored, ragged ones, and willing your brows to crease. His fingers are still so cold from the rain, and the sensation of them on your burning core has your mind spinning.

His touch suddenly disappears in favor of removing your trousers, nimble fingers working to grip the garment and tug them off the length of your smooth legs. He eyes your heat with a bottom lip tucked between his teeth, hands working to remove your panties and banish them to the floor as well. 

He then settles back onto the cushion with determination pooling into his chocolate irises, hands moving your leg to settle atop his shoulder. He ducks his head slightly to press lazy kisses along your thighs, moving closer inch by inch, never once breaking eye contact with you until the warmth of his breath is fanning your core.

It does everything to make you go nearly insane. You shudder at the sensation of his fingers leisurely tracing your folds, coupled with his hot breath dusting them, and when his lips close around your clit, the whine you release is almost shrill.

“Hyungwon,” you gasp helplessly, rolling your hips against his hot tongue and groaning at the subsequent tingling pleasure. He merely presses a hand down on your abdomen in a silent order for you to lay still. 

“Hold on a little longer, baby.”

Then, his fingers are slipping, sinking, between your walls and into heat, drawing a hiss from both your lips. 

“You’re so wet already,” he groans as you writhe below him. His long digits wiggle inside of you, retract, then slide in again. He works up a steady pace, languid and utterly maddening as he stretches you open. It turns you into a whimpering mess, with your hips rolling against his hand to greedily steal as much contact as you can. 

The heat of his mouth promptly returns to your clit, and arches your back off the cushion. Your breaths become even shallower with every movement of his sinful fingers, and your eyes stare dazedly at the ceiling, occasionally fluttering tightly shut when he gives a harsh suck. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, your hands straining desperately against your silk confines, your spine arching and writhing with breathless pants of his name.

When his tongue replaces his fingers and finds its way into your heat, it’s all you can do to not clamp your legs around his neck. His hair tickles your stomach, throat humming approvingly at how absolutely winded he has gotten you. His slender hands clamp around each of your thighs, pulling them further apart and spreading you open just for him.

The look he gives you between your legs is enough to have you cursing to the heavens. It is clouded with dark lust, suggestive, provocative, and making it all the more so when his tongue slides inside you.

A long whine spills from your lips. Any air that was in your lungs is now gone, completely whisked away by the man ravishing you, and your body shudders when he decides not to waste time and delve his pink muscle into your depths. The rate at which he makes you lose your sanity is alarming, and you swear the skin of your wrists has been rubbed raw by how much you fight against them to clench the tufts of his hair as he brings you over the edge so mercilessly.

Strings of moans fly from your lips, some of his name and begging him don’t stop, others completely indiscernible. He himself is groaning shamelessly in his enjoyment of your pleasure, and enlists the help of his fingers once more to drive you over the edge. You release with thighs clamping around his head, hips riding out your high with you jaw unhinged in a silent, final moan.

You collapse with a heaving chest and utterly spent body, unable to see the smirk playing across his glistening lips as he removes himself from your legs. He is hovering over you in the next second , lips littering kisses across your sweat-beaded temple, fingers brushing away the strands of hair strewn about your face.

“God, you look so sexy. Still partly clothed and tied up, squirming and moaning my name,” he groans, soft lips traveling down your face to latch onto your neck. You can only pant for breath underneath.

It’s then that you realize the hardness against your leg, and you remind yourself this is far from over.

He chuckles upon eyeing your wrists still bound over your head. “Speaking of, I should remove that tie now, shouldn’t I?” He smirks.

You groan. “Please.”

His hands are slipping off the silk fabric in the next second, allowing your wrists the merciful touch of the cool air. You bring them to your chest and, rubbing your palms along the skin, you realize that they  _have_  been rubbed raw. 

He laughs at the sight. “You- _oof!_ ”

His back is plastered to the couch in an instant, your palms having, quite forcefully, pushed him off of your frame. Your legs come to straddle his hips before he can protest, and your hands pull his tie taut in your grip. His eyes widen in surprise, then dark at your words.

“It’s your turn.” 

His hands immediately find their way to your waist and squeeze the skin before you’re glaring at him in disapproval. 

“Nuh uh. You don’t get to touch, just like I couldn’t.”

His mouth opens to protest before shutting closed at the sight of his tie clutched in your grip. You’re pleased at his decision, choosing then to slip the fabric over his eyes, with him sputtering at your action.

“W-what are you doing?” He flushes, pulling a giggle from your lips.

“Giving you the punishment you promised me.” 

He gulps once in alarm when the silk fabric is tied into a firm knot around his head, then again when your lips move to his jaw, your teeth tugging and sucking at the skin there. They move down the expanse of his neck and burn a trail of purple and pink in their wake. 

You can hear how his breathing becomes shallow with each press of your lips an inch lower on his body, past his chest, peppering kisses over his defined abdomen, stopping their path only when you harshly tug his belt buckle open. 

“Y/n,” he breathes, head turned downwards in your relative direction, but with the tie over his eyelids, he has difficulty in finding the strands of your hair with his hands. He seems to be more sensitive to your touch without his sight, his breathing having grown more ragged more quickly, and it does everything to have heat curling quickly inside of you once again. 

Your hands work to briskly tug his pants off his thighs and down his long legs with a bit of difficulty because he is  _so damn tall_ , but all those thoughts are falling away when your eyes land on the noticeable tent in his boxers. Your movements still, and you see how he grows tense. His inability to see exactly what you are doing and how you’re reacting, as he is always so keen on making sure to do, seems to get to him more than you originally thought.

“What… _shit_ ,” he gasps when you palm him through the garment, hands flying to grasp the edges of the couch cushion. You hum in approval.

“I haven’t even done anything and you’re already this hard,” you sing, hands moving upwards to grip the seam of his boxers.

He lets out a low chuckle. “You didn’t have to do anything. Just your face when I was in betw– _Y/n_ ,” he gasps when you completely remove the garment, allowing his member to spring free and his lower half to meet the cool air.

“Stop surprising me- _-fuck_ ,” he chokes on a moan when your tongue experimentally licks the head of his length. You have to try not to laugh as you take him in your mouth as slowly as you can, watching his thick lips part to release the deepest, longest groan for your ears only.

He curses again when you pull your mouth away quickly and, before his hands could grab for your shoulders or your hair, you pull your head far away as well. His arms fall to his sides in defeat, lips twisting into a less than satisfied pout.

“Y/n, stop teasing,” he whines, speaking to empty air that was a bit to the left of your chuckling frame. 

“You’re the one who is blindfolded. You shouldn’t be giving orders.”

He growls. “Well, why don’t you take it off and I can– _fuck_ ,” he hisses when you take him into your mouth again, this time working the entire length slowly inside. His head falls backwards onto the arm rest when your hot tongue follows the path of your lips, and a groan wracks his frame when your hand pumps what your mouth can’t reach.

His hands thread through your hair, lips parting occasionally to give the sweetest, sexiest moans from the base of his throat when you give a particularly harsh suck. His teeth gnaw at his bottom lip when you hum your own moans at his enjoyment, and it’s only when his hips begin to roll up to meet the rhythm of your mouth do you know he’s close.

A breathless moan of your name passes his lips and his skin is like smooth milk when it flexes to steal more contact with your lips. His grip on your hair has grown pleasantly tight, a testament to his rapidly growing, unbearable pleasure, but he never once puts any pressure, should you remind him again that isn’t one to be giving orders now.

But the sight of his groaning, arching frame at your ministrations is enough to stir your own body into a whirlwind. You can feel yourself growing ridiculously wet once again and it’s only after a few, generous strokes of your mouth do you impatiently pull away.

He pants with effort before you, the wrinkled tie still over his eyes and a pink hue having crept up along his bruised neck to settle on his cheeks. He has enough presence of mind, however, to process you settling atop his hips and grips the curve of your waist so tightly you think of bruises there tomorrow morning.

“Tell me I can take this thing off now, _please_ ,” he is nearly breathless, nails digging crescents into your skin, and you can’t help but feel a rush of enjoyment at how worked up you’ve gotten him. You decide, though, that he has suffered enough.

He only needs to hear the simple yes from your lips before he is whipping off the infernal garment from his face and onto the floor before focusing on you.

You’ve completely removed your bra and your shirt, and you can see the unbridled desire pooling into his irises, as it always does upon seeing you bare before him. It seems now, though, that his silk blindfold has gotten him even more riled up at seeing you than usual, because he is threading his fingers through your hair in the next second and growling a come here.

Your lips find each other with fervor, relentless and hungry and impatient this time, with his nails raking over your ass to squeeze hard. A gasp falls from your lips as he grips your body to position over his length, his hungry obsidian eyes entirely devouring you whole when his lips break away from yours.

He pushes his way inside of you and you  _swear_  you’ve never felt such sweet relief before and, judging from the long, breathless moan expelling from his lips, you know he hasn’t either. You find yourself grateful for the fact he is too tall to lie on the couch completely, so that his upper body is positioned upright against the armrest, because it allows you to drop your head onto his shoulder without difficulty. You moan his name into the crook of his neck when he is presses himself to the hilt inside of you, and he groans something back about you feeling so damn good around him, squeezing him this way.

You lift your hips to slide down his member, slowly and cautiously, watching his eyes flutter shut in utter pleasure, lips hissing when you clench around him. 

You think you might have pushed your teasing a little too far when his eyes open to glare darkly at yours and his hands grip your hips tightly to prohibit your movements. There is a pause, a lull in the air where you look at each other with hitched breaths and anticipating gazes of uncontested lust before he is swiveling his hips up inside you.

A broken moan falls from your lips and your back arches when his hips repeat the motion, once, twice, again and again. His head has fallen backwards onto his arm cushion now as he grips your hips in desperation, length plowing into you and doing everything to make your vision fuzzy, your moans higher in pitch, your sanity to all but disappear.

Your forehead plasters onto his and you have half a mind to be grateful for his arms keeping you up. His hot breath fans your lips and you find yourself whimpering to him.

“I-I’m close,” you warn him, eyes clenching shut at another harsh thrust. He growls in response, arms moving upwards to wrap around your waist before he is hastily maneuvering you off of him so that your back is pressed to the cushions.

He settles in between your legs, and wastes no time in pushing inside you once again. He still manages to pull strings of gasps and moans from your lips as if he’s doing it for the first time, and presses his hands into the cushions on either side of you for more leverage. Then, he is drilling into you without mercy, memorizing the way you choke on your moans and your spine bows far off the couch.

Your nails rake over his shoulders, down his back, legs lacing around his waist to press him deeper inside. He nearly breaks at that moment, broken moans spilling from his mouth as he buries his head in the crook of your neck, thrusts rapidly growing sloppy and desperate. 

Your own pressure builds to the breaking point from the piston of his hips, and you release with nails painting crescents into his skin, jaw unhinging as white, hot pleasure engulfs you entirely. He groans loudly at the way your walls squeeze him so deliciously, and lets his teeth sink into the flesh of your neck when he comes, hard, with a stutter of his hips and a final, deep thrust.

Strained breathing fills the room then, the last few, lazy thrusts of his hips slowing to a stop with a shaky breath falling from his lips. His exhausted weight almost crushes you when he falls on top of yours, and you have to shove his shoulders off you with a chuckle. His elbows prop up against the cushion and his eyes are filled with endearment now as they gaze at your still-flushed frame.

His lips press to yours, languid and soft, such a contrast from earlier when he was set on devouring you whole. Now, your fingers are threaded through the soft strands of his hair, your lips molding against his as you expel your exhaustion into one another.

“It’s still raining,” you mumble against his lips once you are able to register the sound of the water drops showering his window. He pulls away with playfulness twinkling in his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips.

“I guess you’ll just have to stay here a little longer, then,” he speaks, smoothing down the strands of your hair with his hand. 

You chuckle, pressing a single kiss to his lips.

“I guess I do.”


End file.
